


What Mess, What Worry

by a-not-humble-bard (LadyofWinterhell)



Series: Let Jaskier Fuck [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Just dumb comedy, Kinda, M/M, Pre-Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Pre-Slash, Tissaia is Yennefer's Adopted Mom, but i'm going to make that everyone else's problem, i think i'm more clever than i probably am, ish, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofWinterhell/pseuds/a-not-humble-bard
Summary: Geralt is back from the hunt and Jaskier isn't in the tavern. So Geralt waits. And waits. And when Jaskier finally shows up, he's a bit worse for wear and is being stingy with the details for once.Or, hands were thrown and Jaskier is a little embarrassed to tell Geralt what he did. But it's not his fault, he swears.Canon-typical language & dirty humor
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Tissaia de Vries & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Let Jaskier Fuck [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821190
Comments: 32
Kudos: 477





	What Mess, What Worry

**Author's Note:**

> Woot! First Witcher fic! TV canonverse! Constructive criticism accepted!

“Anyway, where was I? Oh right! Reminding you that you should totally, definitely teach me how to use your swords,” Jaskier announced, plopping down into the seat across from Geralt as if he’d been only gone a moment.

In reality, he was several hours later than usual to greet the witcher post-hunt and, if the hard lines worn into the witcher’s expression were any indication, Geralt had been worried. Jaskier smiled, happy to have his friend’s yellow eyes fully focused on himself for once, even if it was the result of less-than-desirable circumstances.

“Where-”

“Have I been?” Jaskier interrupted the man’s growl and then twisted in his seat, waving over the young barmaid. 

“A drink, my lovely lady. I am absolutely parched!” he called out, completely ignoring the witcher.

Geralt’s lips twitched with the desire to question the bard further, but Jaskier dismissed him again, focusing entirely on the status of the alcohol he so very much deserved. It was a bit sadistic of him, he knew, to keep his witcher waiting, but it was too tempting to prolong the amount of time he had Geralt’s focus to himself. Tapping his fingers against the old wooden table with glee, he reached out for his drink when it arrived. And of course, he made sure to give the goddess that had brought it to him a flirtatious wink. As she scurried off, a giggle in her throat, he finally met his friend with the intention of revealing his recent adventure.

“So, the great Geralt of Rivia wants to actually hear one of my stories. Well, I have to say I’m not surprised. I know how much you truly love me, Jaskier, your dearest friend, and how you try your best to act as if-”

Jaskier’s body pitched forward from it’s relaxed, splayed out position so that he could grab the witcher’s arm to prevent the man from leaving, as he so clearly was about to do.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Jaskier half-whined, not removing his hand until Geralt had settled back down and slid his gaze back to the bard.

“This is why you don’t get invited to parties,” he huffed under his breath.

He took a particular delight at the way the witcher’s lips twitched up ever-so-slightly at the remark, made a mental note to pursue that line of teasing later, and resigned himself to giving the other man what he wanted. Information. Geralt was straight to the point and liked simple, truthful details. Jaskier’s stories, as they were both so very much aware, had neither quality. Still, the bard decided to do his best.

“Well, you left for the hunt at the crack of dawn, while those of us that don’t naturally scare arousal into people are getting our beauty sleep. So when I awoke, I was alone and, of course, thought I’d make good use of my time by exploring the town. Enjoying what few fine things the market could offer.”

He paused, inhaling deeply for dramatic effect. He couldn’t help it. Performance was in his blood.

“It was peaceful, if not terribly dull. And of course, ever the poet, I lamented my boredom aloud when I was met with a fist to the face! Can you believe it, Geralt? I had done nothing wrong! But this big ol’ ugly pig of a man decided he should attack a good bard and bust his face open!”

Jaskier finished his statement with a huff. At least, he thought, he’d been able to make it simple.

Geralt made no movement to speak, instead electing to gaze intently at the bard. Under the intense glare, Jaskier felt heat rise to the surface of his skin, no doubtedly turning it a lovely shade of crimson. So he blurted out a hasty conclusion.

“Okay well, this and that happened and I showed the man what you get when you mess with the impossibly talented Jaskier, Master Bard and Friend of the White Wolf.”

A small part of him, no-doubtedly the piece of himself that controlled his self-preservation instincts, believed the conversation to be over and done with. Geralt would accept his words, not press any further, and that would be that.

“Jas,” Geralt cocked his head in the way that Jaskier knew meant ‘you’re a total idiot but I’m enjoying this particular display of idiocy so I won’t call you out just yet,’ and almost smiled. “That’s not what happened.”

“It’s not what happened,” the bard heard himself repeat, his mouth twisting into a pout as he refused to meet the witcher’s eyes.

“What do you want me to say, Geralt?” he huffed, throwing up his arms in emphasis. “That I maybe, accidentally, slept with a rather talented blacksmith’s son--real good with the swords, if you know what I mean--last time I was around these parts and maybe, accidentally, broke his heart by leaving the next day without a word. So possibly, with some slim chance, the man that punched me was in fact said blacksmith. Do you want me to say that, Geralt?”

Jaskier’s entire body dropped, slumping down into his seat in pathetic defeat. He decided it was as good a time as any to try and count the number of nails in the ceiling.

“Hmm,” the low noise came from the witcher’s general direction.

“That’s not a response,” Jaskier said, eyes still focused on the extremely interesting and most definitely important task he’d assigned himself.

“This town doesn’t have a blacksmith.”

Jaskier sunk even lower where he sat, contemplating the old wive’s tale that wolves would see the aversion of one’s gaze as a sign of submission, and therefore leave any unsuspecting children alone so long as they looked away. And, well really, Geralt was from the wolf school and that was sort of like being a wolf, so he thought it had a chance of working.

“What happened, bard?”

Jaskier thought old wives tales were shit.

His eyes lowered and he looked straight ahead, his gaze now barely above the table’s height, he was so low in his seat. Geralt, it had seemed, found this all so very amusing. He was practically smiling, the bastard. All the tension that had been in the witcher’s shoulders when Jaskier had strode into the tavern, somewhat beaten and just slightly bloody, was gone. Whisked away. It would’ve made the bard happy, had he not known the cause was at his own expense.

“I got beaten up by a woman,” he muttered under his breath, knowing full well that Geralt would be able to hear him.

“Hmm.”

“There, you happy?” Jaskier spat from his deflated position.

“Nope.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to growl. He would’ve found the role reversal funny, had the situation been different.

“What do you want, Geralt?” the bard huffed.

“I want you to tell me, Jaskier, why you came in here late with a black eye, a split lip, and blood decorating your shirt.”

Jaskier was about to sputter a protest when the witcher continued.

“And also why you think I would believe you cared enough to be embarrassed about a woman punching you. Don’t you have a whole song about it?”

“Ha! I knew you listened to my songs!” Jaskier exclaimed, sitting up so suddenly that he swore he gave himself wood burn on his back. Still, it was worth it to revel in the witcher's confession. Or, near-confession. Acknowledgement. Something.

Geralt did not dignify the outburst with a response.

“Okay, fine, Geralt. You win. But you better not laugh,” Jaskier wagged his finger in Geralt’s face.

With a surprisingly gentle touch, the witcher grasped Jaskier’s outstretched hand and brought it down to the table, holding it there.

“I would never,” Geralt spoke softly, but his expression betrayed him.

No one else would see the witcher’s stern features and know that he was just barely holding back laughter. But Jaskier knew. And yet, he finally told his friend the truth.

“Have you heard of Tissaia de Vires?” Jaskier questioned, leaning forward and smooshing his face into his free fist, which was propped up by his elbow on the table.

Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed.

“The mage? Rector at Aretuza?”

“The one and only,” he responded in a dull, tired tone.

“Yen told me about her.”

“Yeah well ‘Yen’ never mentioned it to me. At least not until earlier today,” Jaskier sat up and dropped his free hand to the table, allowing the thump to emphasize his frustration.

“Why would Yen mention it? You’re always at each other's throats. And Yen was in town? Today?”

Inwardly, Jaskier smiled at the confusion that bloomed on Geralt’s face. Sometimes his expressions were very puppy-like, although he’d never say it aloud. Or maybe he would. It was, in fact, possible that he already had at some point.

“Emphasis on ‘was.’ That whole bit about being punched by a woman was true,” he continued with a roll of his eyes. “The embarrassing part just wasn’t the fact that I was bullied by a woman. It was ‘which’ woman did the bullying. Emphasis on witch.”

“Hmm.”

“Now hold on there, Geralt,” Jaskier spoke quickly, noticing the emotion that filled his friend’s eyes. “I know you’re torn between defending my honor and facing the woman you...are weird with, but I did kinda deserve it. I mean not really. But I guess in this case I can understand her point of view.”

The witcher huffed, clearly unable to make sense of the bard’s words. Not that anyone else would’ve had better luck deciphering him.

“You have to understand, Geralt, it was a long time ago,” he said, hearing the slight tone of guilt in his own voice.

“See...how do I put this....Oh look at me, the bard at a loss for words. Running into Yennefer. It’s like we swapped places!”

“Jaskier.”

The bard waved off the warning, but continued nonetheless.

“To put it simply, let’s say that instead of having a little horizontal fun--well, and vertical, if we’re to be honest--with a blacksmith’s son, I had it with the blacksmith himself. And let’s say that the blacksmith didn’t have a son, but he did have many apprentices that thought of him like a father. And to continue our little hypothetical, let’s say I didn’t know the blacksmith and the apprentice knew each other. So when I ran into the apprentice and they mentioned the blacksmith, I may have bragged about having done-the-do with the blacksmith. The person the apprentice sees as a paternal figure. And there were details, because you know me. I don’t shut up. So I bragged quite a bit. Too much for me, even.”

“You did not put it simply,” was the first sentence out of Geralt’s mouth.

The second was, “Wait, you fucked Yennifer’s mom?”

**Author's Note:**

> Constructed criticism accepted. Holla at me on Tumblr too if you want @pantoranprincess


End file.
